


Helter Skelter

by iantoplaysminecraft



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iantoplaysminecraft/pseuds/iantoplaysminecraft
Summary: Ianto Jones, the bassist of the world famous band The Teaboys, has been playing bass since he was in his teens. Now a long way from home, he embarks upon a long tour along with his band mates and good friends, in their fucking disgusting tour bus. And his favourite jumper really needs a wash.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones, Owen Harper/Diane Holmes, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tommy Brockless/Toshiko Sato
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic begins with a flashback chapter which focuses on Ianto in his teens. The next chapter will be in his present day, as will the majority of them- there are other flashback chapters, but we will add that in the notes before the chapter so as to avoid confusion. 
> 
> Small note:  
> \- Lisa is 18 and Ianto is 17 (she was in a year above him at school)
> 
> Updates will probably be slow- we plan to have a certain amount of chapters written before we post the next one. If it looks like it's abandoned, we're probably being lazy and the next one is in progress but taking a while (it's unlikely we'll leave this unfinished).

Newport, Wales, 2010.

Ianto Jones, a scruffy seventeen year old looking for a change, has dyed his hair black for the very first time. He’s fairly sure his sister Rhiannon will say she doesn’t like it. But that’s okay. She’s probably going to like the dye-stained towels even less.

The box of dye was only three pounds so it wouldn’t be a _major_ loss on his end but some words of encouragement from someone would be nice. He likes it, at least. And his hair was fluffy. He gently ran his hands through his newly black locks, feeling the glossy aftereffect of the hair dye upon his fingertips.

He’d never forget the feeling that overcame him when he first glanced at his reflection in the grubby bathroom mirror. After washing the last of the dye out of his hair, he watched the dark-coloured water swirl around in the white sink. He looked up at his reflection and was warmly greeted with a bold sense of newfound identity.

He looked like _himself_. A mess of black curls tumbled down his slightly flushed face; he hadn’t been this overjoyed in months. He decided he _really_ liked it. He couldn’t wait to show his friends. He wondered how they’d react.

Hastily, he kicked the dirty and slightly crumpled t-shirt (his beige _Pink Floyd_ t-shirt would never be the same again) to the side and darted out the bathroom to his room. He really didn’t want Rhiannon to see how much he’d stained his forehead with the dye. Not too sure she’d be a fan of that either. It wasn’t particularly her business, but still. He was savouring every last moment of his newly discovered happiness, and the last thing he needed was a judgemental comment from his sister.

He tugged on a _Download Festival 2009_ hoodie and ran his fingers through his hair once more. Ianto’s colourful socks touched down upon the hard wooden floor of the council flat, as he made his way to his bedroom.

He flopped himself heavily on his red bedsheets and pulled his BlackBerry (one of his sister’s cast-offs) out of the back pocket of his weathered jeans. It was kind of outdated now, but still functional, and it wasn’t like he could afford another. It did the job; that’s all that mattered.

His dark hair tickled his neck as he opened the chat feature and clicked for a new message. Typing was hard on the little keys, and he stuck his tongue out to concentrate. Even after months of practice, he struggled to reach a substantial typing speed.

He was texting his bandmates (and friends), Carys and Dylan.

Carys, their lead vocalist and resident guitarist, was a sharp and easily agitated member of the band. Despite Ianto and Dylan’s best efforts, she always seemed to get exactly what she wanted. She was quick to reply to messages, but seemed to lack in thinking beyond her own ambitions. That being said, she was a fierce fighter when it came to defending her friends.

Dylan was their drummer, and on the surface it looked like he didn’t really like either of them a whole lot. Which was fine. Ianto was willing to look past that, purely because he was a damn good drummer. Dylan was just passive aggressive sometimes. He also had weird hair. On more than one occasion, he threw his drumsticks at the kit with such force that he pierced a hole in the snare.

Ianto played the bass, and was also their main songwriter. Songwriting was his favourite; he had a lot of ideas and thoughts and found scribbling them down in lyric form was a good way to express himself. He’d picked up the hobby a few years ago after discovering a battered old bass guitar in his local charity shop. Seeing the unused instrument gather dust in the little shop flooded Ianto with a sense of guilt, so he put all his savings together and purchased it. It was the best decision he ever made.

Ever since that day, he’d barely put the bass down. He’d been tempted to purchase another, but he couldn’t bring himself to drag his heart away from his first love, not to mention the absurd price of a brand new bass.

The three of them had met at school, after Ianto accidentally spilt his juice over Dylan in the cafeteria and consequently had a chip thrown at him.

Ianto hated to admit it, but he was a little scared of Carys to begin with. Well, he still was. But over time, her cold words slowly transformed into warmer words of affection. She was hesitant to convey her love to her friends, but the two boys knew that deep down, she cared very much for them.

Dylan, on the other hand, had a stick up his ass about the juice still. He was more the closed-off type and didn’t tend to speak with his friends with the relaxed tone that the other two shared. In fact, Ianto barely knew anything about him. While Carys could speak for hours on end upon her endless dramas in life, Dylan preferred to stay silent. This used to bother Ianto a little, but after what felt like a lifetime of days filled with Carys’ pointless chatter and Dylan’s quietness, he found comfort in his friend’s opposite dynamics.

The band was called _The Year That Never Was_ , and was named by Carys on the day of their formation. Sometimes, Ianto didn’t know why he stayed. The band dynamic was weird and occasionally it felt imbalanced, but he liked making music so he stuck with them. It was better than staying hidden away in his room and staring at his walls (however well-decorated they were).

The idea to start a band had been suggested by Ianto. They’d been idly chatting in the cafeteria about nothing when they all discovered their passion for music. Carys went into great detail upon her extensive vocal skills and even Dylan began emerging from his (previously bulletproof) shell, as he began mumbling about his love for the drums. Carys was positively overjoyed when Ianto mentioned starting a band. Nearly six months later, they all stuck to a strict practice rota put together by Carys. Wednesdays and Thursdays after school, they’d go back to Dylan’s house where he had a small shed at the end of the garden, just big enough for the band to rehearse in.

Ianto liked the shed. It was quite cold in there sometimes but Dylan had posters all over the walls, and a secret stash of biscuits under one of the armchairs in the corner. Custard creams were his favourite, and Dylan always seemed to have a packet.

They had a gig that night at the bar at the end of Dylan’s road which had been booked a month ago. It was only a small venue, and Ianto was trying to not get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help but be a little excited.

Lisa had also said that she’d come, which was making him feel a little giddy.

They’d even made some merch (Carys’ uncle has a friend who owns a screen printing shop who sold them a box of t-shirts at a discount). After lots of arguing between them, it was decided the design would be a photo of them taken at a band practice by Ianto on the old Polaroid camera his grandad gave him (12th birthday present). After months of hard work, they finally had the chance to play to a live audience.

He turned his phone around and took a photo of his mop of black hair. Maybe it was getting a little too long. Though he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself near scissors again; his last DIY haircut had made _certain_ individuals at school cry with laughter. Rhiannon certainly wasn’t impressed either, especially as she was the one who had to try and fix the disastrous chop. He did like how curly it went when it was longer, however.

He sent the picture to Carys, not really knowing what to expect. He imagined that maybe she’d laugh a little bit. She usually did. He debated sending it to Dylan, but he knew that his chances of getting a reply were slim. Despite this, he clicked the _send_ button next to Dylan’s name and waited.

Neither of them replied immediately, so he flicked the phone to the side and picked up his bass to make sure it was in tune. His still-wet hair dribbled murky dye-water over the white pickguard but he just wiped it off with the sleeve of his hoodie.

The guitar was getting on a bit now, it was a bit scuffed and the lacquer was starting to chip, but it played just as good as the day he bought it, if not even better. It was bright red and yellowing with age, and he didn’t even know the brand because it was written in what looked like Japanese, but it was _his_ bass and he loved it.

It seemed to be mostly in tune, which was useful; the strings were pretty old so if he did try and mess with them, it’d probably backfire horribly anyway. He made a mental note to purchase some new strings.

There was a light _ping_ from the other end of his bed.

Ianto’s phone screen lit up; he had a message.

He delicately placed his bass against the wall and eagerly made a grab for his phone.

_Have you had an accident that wasn’t your fault? Has your life been permanently altered and you haven’t received compensation? Phone us now at-_

Ianto chucked the phone away in annoyance without bothering to read the full message.

“Great,” he muttered to himself, “Bloody compensation.”

He tugged his fingers through his hair again in frustration. It was still damp and was matted against the back of his neck and it was pissing him off. He wondered about trying to find Rhiannon’s hair dryer, but he wasn’t quite ready for her to see his new hair. The muddy water had since run down his face, causing little stripes of grey to run down his face. He knew that she’d lose her rag if she caught him in such a state.

He placed his phone down again and stood up to walk back to the bathroom to wash the streaks away from his face but he was interrupted by another ping of his phone. That sound was getting a little annoying.

He reluctantly shuffled his feet back to his phones and glanced at the phone screen. It was actually one of his friends this time. Carys, to no-one’s surprise.

_awsome possum!!!!! suits u babe <33 _

Ianto looked at the message, a mild smile breaking loose upon his face. She was nice. Despite her controlling nature and unusual quirks, Ianto was glad to have her as a friend and fellow band member. He hadn’t been overly lucky with making friends in the past, yet now he found himself with a small circle of people who genuinely cared about him.

He glanced at the crooked clock situated opposite his bed upon his cracked wall. The paint was peeling away. When he was younger, he used to pick at it until chips flew off, purely because he found it quite satisfying. Since then, he’d stuck up endless posters, pictures of fond memories and random scribbles upon his walls. He hated the thought of living with empty walls.

The only part he didn’t like is the wall where edgy fourteen-year-old Ianto had scribbled _My Chemical Romance_ lyrics over the wall. He was working on covering that up. Of course, he thought it was the coolest installment to his room back in 2007, but now it did nothing but embarrass him. Even Dylan had giggled the first time he saw the wall.

His almost-empty packet of Blu-tac lay upon his chest of drawers. Next to it lay a pile of posters, freshly ripped from that week’s _Kerrang!_ and _Rock Sound_. He’d been meaning to stick them up during the week, but had got waylaid with bass practice and college courses. There was always time tomorrow.

Tomorrow. It seemed so far away. Anxiety was starting to knot in Ianto’s stomach about that night, and he wasn’t feeling as confident as he was earlier. He’d never played in front of anyone besides his bandmates. Dylan’s parents occasionally listened in on the shed practices and offered them their thoughts upon their music, but never before had he stepped on to a stage and played for a live audience. The thought was beginning to terrify him. Ianto began to wonder how his friends were feeling about it.

He still hadn’t heard back from Dylan, so he assumed that he was going crazy on his drum kit or something.

His palms began to sweat uncomfortably. He was really hoping he wouldn’t have to puke. Feeling the familiar ache of panic starting to build up, he hastily tried to move his mind away from thinking about the gig. A small polaroid upon his wall caught his eye. Just before she left.

The picture, taken about four months prior, was one of Ianto’s favourites. It contained a slightly hazy image of Lisa and Ianto with their arms around one other, smiling giddily at the camera. The two of them glowed with carefree expressions.

It’d been so long since he’d seen Lisa, months, even, with her living in London and all, and it was hard to imagine that she wouldn’t have changed. He certainly had. He’d been devastated when she told him that she’d decided to study at UCL, but at the same time had been incredibly proud.

All through upper school, she’d gushed to him her dreams and goals about pursuing an art history based career in a very excitable manner, so Ianto was pleased that she was beginning to experience her passions. It still stung, though. He did miss her.

He was still stuck studying English literature, music and photography at his local college, which he did enjoy (even though it was weird not having Lisa around). Rhiannon had been keen for him to study elsewhere, to experience life somewhere slightly further than Newport, but Ianto ultimately decided against it; he was perfectly happy staying where he was. He had his friends. What more could he want? He couldn’t imagine himself studying Shakespeare in an unfamiliar city, sipping tea from a different teacup, chatting to people who didn’t even know his name. He was comfy here.

A soft knock echoed through Ianto’s room, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Ianto? You in there?”

 _Oh god_ , he thought to himself, _this isn’t going to be good_.

“Yeah, Rhi, just a sec,” he said, trying to keep the frantic panic away from his tone of voice.

He quickly ruffled his hand through his hair once more and wiped his damp hand on his jeans, then hopped off his bed and opened the door.

The rusty hinges of the door squeaked annoyingly, the noise making Ianto cringe.

“You alright? It’s a Saturday, and you usually surface before two at least so I thought it was a good idea to-”

Ianto cut her off, stumbling awkwardly on his words. “I, uh-”

The door had fully opened to reveal Ianto’s new black curls and his sister’s complete state of shock.

“IANTO?! What the _bloody hell_ have you done with your hair?”

She reached up and fiddled with his fringe a little bit. He winced, not wanting her to get any closer to his face. The greyish hair dye smudges were beginning to burn. He didn’t want a rash for his first gig or his reunion with Lisa.

“I don’t know.. I think it looks cool.”

He tried to worm past her but she grabbed his arm to stop him to look at it some more.

“I can’t decide whether I like it or not,” she mumbled out after fiddling with the front a little bit more, “It’s… different.”

“Good different? Or is it really bad?” He said, teetering back and forth on his heels in a nervous fidget.

“As long as you’re happy, I guess.” She offered him a quick smile and tried to look like she wasn’t laughing. Her shoulders shook a little, which Ianto took note of and tried not to pay too much attention to.

He gave her a weak smile and walked past her, this time to the kitchen, since the mission to the bathroom was seemingly faced with an awful lot of obstacles.

Ianto heard Rhiannon walk towards the bathroom. He held his breath, well-aware of what was to come. Maybe he should barricade the door.

★★★

Ianto was panicking. He could see Lisa in the audience, if he really focused and tried to ignore the lights that seemed to be blasting directly in the direction of his eyes. She was waving her arms haphazardly in the air, desperately trying to ease the awkward tension that had built up throughout the duration of the gig.

Most of all, he felt a bit embarrassed. There were only about ten people there, and two thirds were band member’s family and friends. He assumed the rest of them were regulars from the way they regarded the band. Not in a rude way, just in a disinterested and slightly vague way, which Ianto could respect.

His bass strap dug uncomfortably into his shoulder, and he could feel the strings getting more and more slippery the more and more he overthought. The fretboard felt alien to him, and his fingers skidded on the harsh strings.

“Shit.” he cursed under his breath as he missed yet another three note combo.

He briefly looked behind him and was unpleasantly greeted with Dylan’s annoyed glare. He was mouthing something at Ianto and honestly Ianto was too panicky to link his lip movements to letters. It was probably something about concentrating, so he focused his sweaty hands back on the fretboard with his full attention. It’s okay, the song was almost over. Breathe in, breathe out. Easy as shit.

Final few notes.

Dylan smacked his drumsticks hard upon the cymbals, as Carys held the final note of the song for a few moments longer than necessary. Ianto just about managed to keep his nerves under control and make it to the end. His hands shook uncontrollably as he plucked the last few notes.

It had been an absolute disaster. He was trying not to vomit. The ‘audience’ swam around his vision in a blurred haze.

“Thank you! And goodnight!” Carys announced when she finished with her little solo. Her loud voice echoed through the mostly empty venue and bounced off the walls uncomfortably.

There was one or two claps from the old wrinkly geezers sitting at the tables, who took a few seconds out of sipping their pints to give them a pity hand, and Lisa, who was clapping awfully loudly. She was overdoing it by a lot, but he was so grateful that she was trying to cheer him up.

Ianto could see Rhiannon. She appeared to be sulking in the back corner of the bar, a phone clasped a little too tightly in her hand. He tried to catch her eye, but had no such luck. She offered the band a few half-hearted claps, then went back to texting. His disappointment only grew, as he took in the unimpressed expressions of those around the bar.

Dylan tried to throw his drumsticks into the audience but hit the back of Ianto’s head. He felt like he could sob. He gently took the bass strap from over his head and placed it back in the case, which he rested on the floor as he fiddled, leaving the amp on the stage until the last minute.

He took his time winding up the cable, silently, trying to find some peace in the menial task that could calm his racing heart. After zipping it in the front pocket of the gig bag, he hefted the bass up onto his back and then walked over to Carys’ area of the stage. Winding up cables was quite calming, he found, and after tucking her microphone and other gear back into her backpack he found that he was feeling marginally better.

Carys had run off and was chatting to her big brothers who were disguised at the back (similarly to Rhiannon, now he thought about it) and Dylan was looking for the partner to his remaining drumstick. Ianto had seen it roll under one of the stools at the bar but he was still mad at Dylan for throwing the drumstick so he left him to it. He found a little humour in watching Dylan crawling around upon the dirty carpet on all fours, frantically searching for the lost stick. The best part was when Dylan crushed a pretzel under his knee. The old men also seemed to find enjoyment in this. They pointed him in many directions away from the drumstick itself and laughed heartily, raising their pint glasses when he banged his head on one of the old wooden bar stools.

Ianto watched this performance play out for a few moments, then his mind snapped back into reality. He looked across the bar and caught sight of Lisa.

All Ianto wanted to do was find Lisa and have a nice relaxing evening with her. They both had so much catching up to do! Maybe the two of them could go on a nice walk through the streets like they used to back in secondary and share stories. Or perhaps they could rent a soppy romance film from BlockBuster and lie on the sofa in each other’s arms, nibbling popcorn. No matter what they did, Ianto knew they'd have a wonderful time. He always had a nice time when he was with Lisa. Joyful memories of the two of them danced around his head.

A smile played on his lips for the first time that evening. He’d missed her desperately when she’d gone away and he was determined to savour every last moment in her company.

“Hi Ianto.” He looked up to see Lisa stood in front of him. He gave her a warm smile as she pulled him in for one of her famously tight hugs.

She pulled away and left her hands on his shoulders.

“You were great!” He could hear her say.

“I really liked the third track, that was written by you, right? Ahh, you’re so talented…” She faded out, as Ianto lost focus and peeled the skin around his nails nervously and remembered the whole ordeal.

He looked up at her again and she smiled at him.

“Actually, Ianto, is it okay if we have a word outside for a second?”

He shrugged and let himself be led outside by her. She was wearing nice shoes, he noted. Dark blue Chuck Taylors. And green socks with little blue dinosaurs on.

The night breeze ruffled his hair around madly and he felt like this was somehow worse than staying inside the greasy pub. He glanced over at Lisa, taking in her slightly altered appearance. He’d been looking forward to seeing her again since she first left for London, yet the air around the two of them felt a little off. He blamed it on the terrible gig.

She looked different... Healthier. Her silky hair had gotten a bit longer, and it curved round her face, framing her features perfectly. She was wearing more makeup than she used to, light blue eyeshadow and heavy mascara. Maybe even some lip gloss. It looked really nice.

“I like your hair, by the way, Ianto. Black suits you.”

He nodded a thank you and chewed his bottom lip anxiously.

“Ianto, I-” She cut herself off.

“Lisa?” She sighed, and then looked him in the eye.

Ianto’s gaze drifted from her eyes to her shoes. Something was wrong.

“Ianto.. I’m breaking up with you.”

Fuck.

Ianto stood motionless for a few moments. Somehow this is worse than what he was expecting.

All he could choke out without starting to sob was an almost silent “Why?”

Lisa gave Ianto a sorrowful look. “I just-”

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m lonely. It’s not your fault but I miss even boring things like holding hands. Uni’s different than I expected, you’ll see when you start next year, but I can’t continue like this, Ianto. It’s not personal, and it’s very much a me-problem. You’re a good boyfriend and it was brilliant while it lasted but this isn’t… how I thought it would go. I just.. I just can’t see us working out. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She bent her head into her elbow, like she was trying to hide any tears. Her dark brown hair whipped around her shoulders.

“But- but I love you,” he whispered, tears begrudgingly tumbling from his eyes.

“Please.” she mumbled. “Let me go. For both of our sake.”

Her voice was muffled and pain-stricken.

It felt like a suckerpunch to the gut.

The world around him disappeared. All he could focus on was Lisa. His ex girlfriend. _Ex_.

“It was- It was good, yeah?” He sobbed.

Ianto could barely keep himself from falling to pieces. He gripped his hands together, knuckles turning white. His fingernails dug in and he felt the skin on his palm pierce.

“I-” Lisa took a moment to compose herself before continuing. “I still want to be friends.. You’re so special to me, Ianto, I’m not ready to lose you for good.”

Ianto diverted his gaze to the tarmac floor beneath him, trying to keep his breathing steady. The shock of the breakup was slowly beginning to be replaced with a numbing feeling of emptiness.

“I heard you have some cool merch for sale? Happen to have a medium left?” She sobbed and laughed as she mumbled in a futile attempt at making a joke. The jokiness of her tone mercilessly punched at his heart.

Ianto watched his tears drop to the pavement.

“Mmm,” he sniffed.

They only sold one t-shirt that night.


	2. The Teaboys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Teaboys' tour is in full-swing. With Ianto on bass, Jack on vocals, Owen on guitar, Tosh on keyboard & vocals and Suzie on drums, what could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short absence of chapter updates! 
> 
> \- This chapter, as mentioned previously, is set in the present day  
> \- No content/trigger warnings:)

London, England, 2018.

The crowd erupted with gleeful cries, as the opening band walked on to the stage. Ianto Jones looked upon the audience fondly and watched the thousands of glowing faces screaming delightful words of appreciation towards the band. It couldn’t get much better than this. 

Toshiko Sato grabbed his hand and he gripped it tightly, anxiety beginning to set in. He looked down at their hands and tried to concentrate on something else; Tosh’s dark purple nail polish was chipped on her pinky, and the black nail polish he put on three weeks ago was nearly completely gone. His cuticles looked kind of disgusting too. He made a mental note to ask Tosh to fix his nails later that evening; she was a bit of a genius at it and was more than happy to help him.

Tosh gave Ianto’s hand a reassuring squeeze and offered him a soft smile. “You’ll do brilliantly.” 

He swallowed and nodded at her, feeling his eyes beginning to water. Every night followed the same routine but it never really got easier, until he was actually on the stage playing. He wished there was some way for him to not feel so petrified before every gig, but at least the bad feeling would disappear soon. 

He thought about Rhiannon sitting at home, eagerly awaiting his next phone call. Ianto hoped she was settling in well in her new flat. It’d been a while since they’d last spoken. When Ianto first started touring, he’d promised to phone her every week, but he hadn’t quite considered navigating through his incredibly busy schedule and exhausting late nights to make time for the call. 

Tiny beads of sweat trickled down Ianto’s forehead. It was time. 

He heard the lead singer of the opening band, The Racoons, yell goodnight to the audience and he let go of Tosh’s hand to crack his knuckles. The uproar of the crowd made his ears ache. 

Ianto thought the lead singer, John Hart, was a bit of a tosser. He had nice boots though. He wasn’t overly well acquainted with the members of The Racoons; he was perfectly content with spending his little waiting time backstage playing endless video and card games and didn’t think much of socialising with anyone outside of his group. John Hart’s band didn’t seem to want anything to do with Ianto and his bandmates, anyway. Well, anything besides the occasional mocking stare and crude word exchange. And maybe sometimes flirting. There was perhaps a little too much flirting for Ianto’s liking. 

Ianto diverted his gaze to his fellow bandmates and good friends (some of them, anyway). Suzie Costello was on her phone (he assumed, on Twitter or something of the sort), with Owen Harper standing next to her, clearly trying to make some kind of conversation, but not very successful as he was very much being ignored. Jack Harkness stood against the wall, looking around with an expressionless look on his face. They made eye contact for a split second so Ianto turned his gaze back to Tosh, who was twiddling her thumbs in an anxiety-stricken manner. She didn’t like to talk about it, but Ianto knew that she felt just as nervous as him in the build-up to the gig. 

John Hart swaggered off the stage boisterously, ash grey Epiphone SG strapped to his back, giving Jack a wink as he walked past. When Jack raised an amused eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes then turned to Ianto and whispered something about eye candy into his ear that he couldn’t quite make out. Ianto just looked away from him and didn’t meet his eyes. He’d come to learn that anything that came out of John’s mouth was something really not worth paying attention to. 

The rest of his band followed him through, and Ianto resisted the urge to throw up. While he loved his time spent on stage, the pressure to give these people a good time, something to _remember_ , often got to him more than anything. He was glad he wasn’t the frontman. Jack did a good job, though.  


He jumped around the stage like it was the most natural thing in the world. Ianto once read somewhere that some people are simply born to perform; Jack Harkness, without a doubt, fell under that category. 

He’d like to think that  _ he _ fell under that description too, but considering all he really did was walk around a bit and sometimes lob a pick into the audience he sincerely doubted it. Despite this, he very much enjoyed his time on stage. He didn’t quite possess the same shameless energy as Jack, but he did what worked for him, and he loved it all the same.

“Alright then, everybody. It’s showtime,” Jack said enthusiastically, his strong American accent seeping into his words. He clapped his hands together and ushered the band members towards the stairs leading up to the stage. 

Ianto looked up suddenly, after being knocked out of his daydream. Before he could say or do anything else, Owen, Suzie and Jack started towards the steps and all he could do was follow. Tosh grabbed his hand and pulled him into a quick hug; He sniffed into Tosh’s shoulder and pulled away before he could start panicking properly. He grabbed his bass off of the stand beside him.

He made sure he still had his camera strapped to the belt loop where he attached it, and darted up the stairs. Suzie had gone on first, followed by Owen, but Jack was still standing upon the top step, and gave Ianto a small smile as he passed him. Ianto tried to return one, but all he could produce was a brief nod. He clasped his vintage red Fender p-bass between his shaking fingers and lifted the subtle patterned strap over his head. 

The weight of the instrument was perfectly balanced upon his shoulder. He gently stroked the neck, feeling the soft wooden body beneath his fingertips. The vibrant red paintwork glistened warmly in the artificial lighting backstage. Upon the body, Ianto had haphazardly stuck an abundance of small stickers, ranging from David Bowie to The Sex Pistols. There was even one of their own nestled somewhere.

As beautiful as his bass was, a small part of him still longed for the guitar he’d salvaged from the charity shop in his youth. If he closed his eyes, he could just about make out the chipped scarlet paint and wonky tuning keys. The old bass was resting in his guitar stand back home, next to his favourite Swiss cheese plant. He did hope that plant would still be alive when he got back home; Ianto had grown rather attached to the leafy thing.

Tentatively, he stepped onto the stage and felt the rush of it all hit him; the bright unwavering white of the stage lights, the stuffiness that comes with an arena filled with god knows how many people, the stickiness of his hands as he fumbles with the jack cable. The huge knitted jumper he was wearing underneath his battle jacket probably wasn't helping with the stuffiness. The crowd met him with a cheer, and he smiled mildly and stepped back, just in front and to the left of Suzie.

He brushed his hair out the way of his eyes gently with his fingertips and looked down at his hands once more. The shaking was beginning to ease. Thank fuck. He didn’t need Owen ripping into him about missing notes again. Last time, he’d gone on about it for the rest of the evening, saying how he needed to “ _ man up _ ” and “ _ play the bloody notes _ ”. Ianto thought this was rather ironic, considering this ‘advice’ was from a man who couldn’t even catch a spider. 

He could hear Tosh make her way up the stage behind him and briefly turned around to offer her yet another smile. Her eyes, which were moments ago cold and frightened, were now glowing with excitement and anticipation. 

Owen was prancing around the stage as usual, throwing his hands up in the air and making the crowd go crazy. He adjusted his strap, cracked his neck surprisingly loudly, and toyed a black and white checkered plectrum in between his skinny fingers. Ianto watched his eyes rove around the crowd, an image of complete bliss upon Owen’s grinning face. 

Each member of the band barely had anything in common with one another but as soon as they stepped out on stage, they were all greeted with a similar feeling of ecstatic joy. 

Last of all, Jack stepped out of the wings, a picture of confidence, coat flowing out behind him. At first Ianto had thought the coat was just for stage but Jack seemed to live inside it. He tried to remember if he’d seen Jack ever  _ not  _ wearing that coat outside of the tour bus, but no recollection of such a thing entered his mind. 

Jack grabbed his black Les Paul from the stand at his feet and slung it around his shoulders casually. He swiftly plugged it in, and pivoted on his heels to give Suzie a nod. She held the drumsticks above her head, ready for the count-in.

“What’s up, London? HOW ARE WE ALL DOING TONIGHT?!”

The volume of Jack’s voice against the now screaming crowd made Ianto  _ really _ wish he hadn’t forgotten his earbuds in the bus. Still, he wasn’t that close to the speakers, and it was nice to hear all the sound they made, genuinely, for once. 

Suzie’s voice was quiet against the piercing noises of the audience, but the count-in clicks of her drumsticks alongside it were unmistakable. She started playing, as they’d done in practice (and every other night of the tour). The quick beats snapped Ianto into a more concentrated mindset; he was next.

Jack turned to gesture a hand towards Suzie at the back of the stage. 

“SUZIE COSTELLO, my dear audience!”

Ianto waited until Suzie finished the bar, then joined in with her, feeling more confident now he had his bass to stand by.

“Our very own IANTO JONES!” 

Ianto gave the audience a modest wave, a small smile, and then focused downward to his hands again. His hair fell in his eyes as he looked down.

“Everyone’s favourite rodent, OWEN HARPER!”

Owen rolled his eyes and started playing, but not before giving Jack a foul look. The piercing tone of his guitar sent the audience mad. 

“And not to forget, the lovely TOSHIKO SATO!”

Not dissimilar to Ianto, Tosh offered the crowd a smile, then focused her attention upon the instrument in front of her. Her fingers boldly pressed down upon the keys, vibrations from the speakers humming in her ears. 

The crowd roared in response to each name, getting louder and louder with each passing moment. 

Jack looked like he was about to explode with excitement.

“THIS SONG IS CALLED BLACK HAIR DYE, AND WE HOPE YOU LOVE IT!”

**★★★** ****

Halfway through the set, Ianto steadily held out his polaroid camera and aimed the lens at the audience. He was desperate to capture that moment, to have it in picture form forever, so that when his memory began to falter, he could look back upon the picture and be reminded of his fond times in the band and remember just how happy he’d been. 

  
This little photo routine had led to an ever-growing collection of crowd pictures which he printed out and pasted into his _tour scrapbook_ , along with  tickets, setlists, notes of appreciation from fans and quick summaries of every gig. 

He grabbed the picture as the camera printed it, and then quickly (but carefully) jammed it in the breast pocket of his jacket. Ianto prayed it would develop properly in the darkness of his pocket. Jack was still talking at the crowd, so he quickly snapped a shot of the band in their element. He had a few seconds before Jack was done, so he watched it develop, and was pretty pleased with the outcome. Definitely a keeper.

He strapped the camera back to his belt loops and picked up the neck of his bass again. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, as he flexed his fingers in preparation of the new few songs on the set list. 

**★★★**

As Jack and Tosh finished the last few words of the encore, Ianto felt sweat slide down his back and smiled an exhausted smile to himself. His fingers were hurting; they felt raw with pain. Limbs aching, he savoured his last few minutes on stage. 

“Thank you so much for being with us this evening! We’ve been the Teaboys, and you’ve been a beautiful audience!” 

The lights dimmed as he yelled the final syllables, but not so much as they weren’t visible. 

Ianto watched Jack place his guitar on the stand once again, and lift up his coat gently to take an elegant curtsy. He was surprised at how graceful his movements were compared to the chaotic headbanging he was exhibiting only minutes before, but that was Jack for you. Tranquil one minute, chaotic the next. 

Suzie had already swept off the stage, a blur of blue denim and black cotton. Owen wasn’t far behind, guitar swinging in hand while he waved madly to the crowd. An abundance of fans right at the front strained their hands out towards the stage, shouting their love and admiration towards the departing band members. 

Pieces of paper and letters flitted through the air towards their feet, as well as a few flowers. Usually, they’d get picked up by the roadies as they were collecting the gear, but sometimes after a show the five of them sat there and combed through some of them together. 

Ianto smiled at the crowd, squinting slightly in the still vivid lights. He reached into his pocket and threw a few of his favourite yellow Jim Dunlop plectrums into the crowd (he didn’t often play bass with plectrums, but he liked giving something back every now and then), then stepped away from the edge and walked back toward the exit. His black Doc Marten boots made a satisfying clipping sound as he capered across the shiny (and slightly scuffed) platform. 

From his peripherals, he could see Tosh beaming wildly and waving fast as she bound over to the passage out, and Jack just behind, marching casually over the huge stage like it was normal. Which, to be fair, it was for them. 

He gave a last glance to the crowd before hopping down the stairs and dumping his bass into the stand and shelling his sticky jacket. The sodden coat dropped to the floor heavily as he made a beeline for the stage door, and rammed himself into the push-to-open bar with a little more force than necessary.

Chilled night air hit him gently in the face, and he shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, taking in as many breaths as he could. His whole body was alight with warmth, adrenaline still pumping effortlessly through him.

Ianto felt the presence of someone slouching against the wall beside him. He shifted his focus to the person standing beside him, and saw Jack, also breathing heavily and clutching his coat between his arms. 

“Well done, Ianto, you killed it out there.” Jack’s familiar American accent addressed him warmly, a slight rasp to his voice. He handed him a lukewarm plastic water bottle. 

It was amazing how quickly his voice could return almost completely to normal, considering how brutally he’d been screaming out song lyrics not ten minutes earlier. 

Jack gently placed a hand on Ianto’s shoulder and left it there for a little longer than necessary. 

Ianto smiled breathlessly at him, and turned back to calming down. Vibrant memories of the gig, still fresh in his thoughts, occupied his mind. The slightly hazy fragments of his time on stage brought his almost as much joy as the real thing. 

Not long after, Tosh stepped out the door, looking slightly dishevelled, but still composed, and sipping from her purple water bottle (which she’d forgotten to replace since last night's show). She’d tied her hair back into a ponytail, the neon green tie contrasting heavily with her dark brown hair in the blue evening light. A few loose strands of hair tumbled down her scarlet-stained cheeks. 

“Good job, guys.” Tosh said brightly, although clearly pretty exhausted. Greyish circles were beginning to form under her eyes. Ianto thought it best to remind her to get some more sleep; Tosh wasn’t a stranger to working herself half to death. 

Ianto smiled in response. He found himself smiling a lot lately. 

Ianto glanced to his left and caught sight of Owen heading out towards the van. He hadn’t bothered to put his guitar back in the hard case (probably leaving it backstage for Rhys or one of the other roadies), and it was bouncing on his hip jauntily as he tramped towards his destination. 

Suzie abruptly followed, flinging her drumsticks carelessly upon the floor for some poor worker to pick up after her. She glided toward the bus without so much as a look towards them. 

Ianto wasn’t completely convinced that she  _ wasn’t _ a vampire. She hardly left the van all day and only really went out when it was time to perform. She was pretty pale, too. And a bit mean. 

He chuckled to himself softly. A vampire bandmate? Maybe  _ he  _ needed to get some more sleep.

Ianto stood up off the wall, and stepped back inside to quickly collect his coat and his bass, which someone had conveniently already put in the case for him. He was very grateful for the help of the band crew and simply couldn’t comprehend why  _ some  _ people in the band took their help for granted. 

He left the two other basses he had backstage in their stands (the stagehands had insisted that he stop trying to manage his instruments himself, and that it was literally their job) and so just took his main squeeze, double checking the case buckles before he stepped back outside the door. 

“See you in a few, guys.” He said, waggling his fingers at Tosh and Jack who were still reclined against the wall.

“In a bit, Ianto.” Tosh wiggled her fingers back at him as she spoke, her ponytail shaking slightly with the movement.

He gave his case buckles one final check, then strided quickly towards the van, trying to get the last of his energy out. The cold air cooled his face and numbed his hands slightly. It ran through his hair, pushing little wisps of the red-tinged curls to fall in front of his face. Tosh had cut it the other day, but he’d asked to keep the front longer; he liked how curly it went. 

Ianto glanced up at the sky. Speckles of tiny white stars and a crescent moon decorated the subtle darkness. He placed his bass down carefully, and lifted his camera once more to take a few shots of the sight above him. 

He was still flipping the photos to develop them as he opened the door to the bus. 

The first thing he noticed when he entered is that Owen was led upside-down on the battered sofa, transfixed on an episode of Breaking Bad which was playing through his laptop sitting on the coffee table. Ianto poked the pictures into the back pocket of his black boyfriend jeans. 

“Shhh. They’re just about to catch the fly.” Owen spat, gesturing wildly at Ianto to stop whatever it was he was guilty of doing (almost spilling an open can of RedBull which was sat just beside him in the process). A wild look of concentration was plastered across his face, as his eyes studied the screen in front of him.

Suzie was nowhere to be seen, so it was easy to assume she’d already gone back to her coffin. What Suzie did after a gig was a bit of a mystery to Ianto. Sometimes he’d find her hidden away in her bunk, fingers tapping frantically upon the laptop balancing on her knees. Other times, she’d sit uncomfortably next to Owen on the sofa and begrudgingly watch another one of Jack’s awful soap operas. If he strained his ears (which were still buzzing slightly) he could just about make out the distinctive  _ tapping  _ of Suzie’s keyboard. On more than one occasion, Ianto had casually asked her what she was doing on her laptop, but he never seemed to get a direct answer. Suzie was, after all, a carrier of many secrets. 

Ianto shrugged in response to Owen’s sharp comment and leant his bass up against the wall opposite the counter. He peeled his knitted jumper off and threw it at the monstrous dirty washing pile in the corner, next to the TV. He knew that he probably shouldn’t be contributing to the ever-growing pile, but he didn't really have any other options. He promised himself that he’d get round to washing his clothes tomorrow. 

Owen opened his mouth to protest at the soft  _ flump _ of the jumper but shut it again as Jack burst through the door obnoxiously, skipping towards the bunks to deposit his coat, humming noisily as he went. His bunk was on the top, above Tosh’s, so he had to hop up for a second while he got organised. Wherever that man was, he always had to make a grand entrance. 

He walked back through to lean his guitar case next to Ianto’s, nodding slightly at the man still lingering there, then threw himself onto the sofa violently. 

“Harkness!” Owen whined furiously, rolling himself normal way up and shuffling across on his arse to pause the Netflix. Jack poked him with his feet, a soft gesture in an attempt to calm him down, but only ended with Owen whacking him with a pillow over the head repeatedly.

Tosh came in not long after, pulling the door to a close after her. She came and stood next to Ianto, watching Jack and Owen squabble for a moment, before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa to them, and grabbing an Xbox controller off the coffee table. 

Ianto reached over and turned the Xbox and TV on, then picked up his own controller which sat atop the dark grey console. 

The familiar  _ Welcome back, XxR1S3NM1TT3NxX!  _ popped up at the bottom. He turned to Tosh.

“Minecraft?”

She looked at him for a moment, a huge grin breaking loose on her upturned lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she joked warmly, her soft tone easing Ianto into a comfortable state of relaxation. He could feel the last surges of adrenaline leaving his body, as he clicked upon the Minecraft icon at the top left of his screen.

The delicate game music filled the van. Tosh and Ianto swayed their heads gently to the nostalgic melody, watching as the Minecraft home screen flashed upon the TV. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is coming soon!


End file.
